For obvious reasons, I've been in a very Christmassy mood, as I assume a lot of you are. To sort of keep that going and douse the flame in oil, I've decided to write about finding out the truth behind Santa Claus' supposed existence. Aw.
Basically, my common sense developed enough by the time I was nine that I was able to figure it out for myself. You'd think it'd end there, but...it..didn't... :D
I had to keep pretending to believe in Santa to keep my parents happy. They were reluctant to break it to me, because, after the heartbreaking experience with my older sister, they couldn't bear to go through it again. As a result, the act went on for a very, very long time. I lost track of how many times I indirectly urged my parents to tell me the truth I was already aware of (it was one of the more frustrating issues I faced when I was younger). The more I hinted at the possibility of me already knowing, the more my parents (my mom, particularly) tried to get me to believe in Santa.
The years went on and I was fourteen. My parents knew I didn't believe in Santa; I knew they knew I didn't. It was an unspoken, mutual acknowledgement; unspoken, because we never really got around to sit and...talk...about things. They just sort of assumed I knew and let things take their own course from there. However, I thought it'd be humorous to demand closure from my mom, so I asked her to tell me the truth about Santa and...she did. That's pretty much it; that's the story. Pretty different from other Santa stories, if I do say so myself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be watching Toy Story 2. Later, guys, and have a happy Christmas!
xx
P.S.- I apologise for any typos or mistakes in spelling/punctuation. I'll edit it when I feel like getting around to doing so.
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